Teachers Are Students, Too

The other day I opened my travel journal and read what I wrote just a few days after I left Korea back in March. I cried at the rawness of my early reflections because I realized that there is always so much to learn. Below is the word vomit that I scribbled over 15 pages almost ten months ago:

Korea has been everything. Now that I can look back and see it as a part of my journey that is finished, it feels like I can grasp the meaning it had as a segment of my life. I can see who I was there, through my experiences and those I shared them with, the decisions I made and chances I took. At the end of it all I can say I’m proud of myself. For facing challenges and learning from them. For stretching myself in all kinds of ways — emotionally, physically, mentally, and in capacities I never expected to.

Lessons In Love
One of the biggest lessons I had during my time in Korea was through Sway. In the beginning of the relationship, I saw myself taking a risk, being open to new things, and blindly trusting. Choosing to do all of those things rewarded me with love, fun, and knowledge that I could choose the good assumptions over the bad ones. At the end of the relationship though, I learned something much more valuable. I learned pain. I’ve never hurt myself by hurting someone else before, and I didn’t know what that was like until him. It hurt me deeply to learn that I could be the cause of someone else’s pain and it took months for me to let go. I realized the inevitability of the fact that we will hurt the people we love, and vice versa, and that is a natural part of humanity.
After I came to realize this I felt refreshed and as if I had finally put down the burdens I carried from the end of that relationship. I let go of blame I put on myself by recognizing that self-blame is unfair and totally in our control. Guilt is a choice. And letting go is hard, but helpful. Forgiveness is a heavy responsibility; choosing it is not weakness but evidence of our strength.
When I look back now I can only remember the good things, and I’m thankful to know that the hardship that followed what we had was only because of the love we shared. Korea would not have been Korea without him.
On Energy
Another lesson I learned in the past few years is that my body is a powerful machine that I am lucky to have and know how to operate. I trained for a long time to run a full course marathon; it took literal YEARS. I lost focus many times but I never gave up. As I continued after each difficult phase I found that all I needed was a time commitment, a good support system, and a strong believe in myself that I could do it. I had all of these at different points, but until they lined up with perfect timing did it all come together. I learned that I can reach such big goals through little ones, one by one.
By joining the yoga studio I was able to make a commitment, and continuously work on a part of myself in body and mind. I dedicated myself to the mat, the practice, the growth, and the hardship. I worked. I reached. I learned so much, and I hope I never stop.
By joining Crewghost, I opened up in my running abilities and insecurities. Running with more support, and a crew who turned into family, made my first marathon even more of a passion and an achievable goal. I felt so proud to be a part of this team and I still am.
A few months after joining Crewghost, I signed up for the Vinyasa Intensive I teacher’s course and it changed me completely. I found myself more aware, more open, and more than ever, happy with myself. And that’s honestly what makes joy come from other avenues without obstacles or delays: self-awareness and self-love. Then I signed up for the Vinyasa Intensive II…and felt even better. I felt healthy, light, fit, strong, and in an incredible place where routine did the opposite of put me in a box or limit me. It brought me to myself.
Pushing my body’s limits and taking it to new ones changed me not just physically but mentally too. I needed no one but myself. And that is a feeling I wish for everyone to internalize and feel genuinely.
When I ran my full course, the pride and excitement was exactly what I thought it would be, maybe a little bit better because it was real. Until now I can’t believe I finished that race. I am proud of my focus, my hard work, and my perseverance, but also my body.
Teachers Are Students, Too
Above everything else, most of my time was spent at SOT. Working there taught me a lot, specifically about what’s important to me and how that affects others. At work I focused on the kids and that was a huge priority of mine. Yes, money was important, and yes, my work environment mattered, but at the end of the day, my job as an educator and leader is what I held close to me.
I learned that all of the little teaching moments I took the time to focus on (teaching about sharing, embracing differences, being kind, accepting and understanding others, knowing your own energy — yes, somehow I tried to teach this to seven year olds) were the things I valued most. I loved each and every one of my students and I wanted to teach them so much, but it turned out that they taught me more. I am so grateful that I learned from them, by watching them and figuring them out, and literally trying to navigate each of them as individual humans and the unique ways they learn. It was a blessing to be their teacher.
When work was hard, for various reasons, I kept this focus. And there were times (summer 2017) when I felt guilty. Looking back I know that was my choice. Why was I made to feel bad for not being angry? For not fighting? And for not choosing sides? It was unfair and complicated for everyone involved, but I look back and know that I should have never felt guilty about making a decision for my own reasons and sticking to it. Through that experience, I also felt pride, for standing my ground in the silence, and for facing those angry and frustrated with me. For handling things in a mature way. And for making a decision based on my own needs and no one else’s. For choosing to spend my last several months basking in the goodness of what I had.
On The Horizon of Change
At the end of last summer I decided to take a year off and dedicate to those I love. I made a plan to visit all the people I know around the world — to fulfill my need of movement and my craving for quality time with those who have been far away from me for the last few years.
So 2018 became a year full of dreams and adventure and travel. I looked at maps and flights and made plans to make no plans. I remember going on a long run one weekend morning and scheming so intensely in my mind about what I’d do in 2018, that the 3 hours it took to run 32k felt like nothing. All I wanted for 2018 was freedom and to be with who I care about. To surround myself with goodness and creativity. And to respark what lights in friendships might have dimmed with distance. This plan brewed in my heart and mind for months.
Then in the fall, something happened that changed me. I went to the yoga studio, and as I was leaving my teacher said to me, “See you tomorrow! Same time?” And I kind of laughed and said, “No no no. Same time tomorrow is pilates. I don’t do pilates.” She asked me if I had ever tried and I said, word for word, “No, but I’m scared.” Then I walked home and thought about it. Why was I scared? I had never even tried.
So I got home and made a list of all the things and experiences and ideas that I always say “no” to. And I wrote:
  • pilates
  • Game of Thrones
  • Tinder
  • working out at the gym
  • make up
  • 된장찌개 (doenjang jjigae – a fermented soybean soup stew thing that smells bad but somehow people think is delicious)
And everything changed.
I found a new practice: saying yes to more. Instead of making claims about what I don’t know, I should just say yes and try new things. So Jana and I watched season one of Game of Thrones until (spoiler alert) they killed Ned and I boycotted the season finale. I started BBG workouts with the intent of consistency instead of as supplements to my running regime. I ate the fermented soup whose smell had scarred me since my first week in Korea on my first Tinder date (two birds with one stone). I met some people I really connected with. I pushed myself. I made a commitment to learn about myself through all of the little steps I took outside of my comfort zone.
My “yes” project opened my eyes to the little changes we can make in our lives that, if we’re open to learning, teach us that we are capable of evolving and adjusting. Being able to say yes with the purpose of learning and knowing your boundaries opens doors through which acceptance and good giving and receiving can so easily flow, and I highly recommend it.
The Hardest Lesson
The end of my time in Korea came at the same time as the end of one of my life’s most treasured friendships. I would say that it started last summer when we talked about “us” for the first time. The “us” conversation was a conversation I never had with a friend before, and now I would love to have it with each of my friends. It was eye opening and heart-filling.
We discussed our respect for each other, what qualities we magnify and minimize in each other, and we talked very transparently about the difficult and unspoken parts of our friendship and feelings. Until this day I am so grateful for our exchange and how intimate and open our conversation was. I don’t think it’s often that people reach this level of introspective and unified closeness with others, and I consider myself lucky.
It’s difficult to explain how a bond forged so deep through shared experiences and how memories get lost in the chaos of pain, but it happens. There are so many differences between us, and there always have been yet we worked so well until we couldn’t. In retrospect, it might have been easy only on the surface, or to me. The tension wasn’t there in the beginning for me like it was for her; sometimes I wonder why I never felt it but she did.
The interesting thing about friendship that we don’t realize is no one on each side owes the other a single thing. Friendship is a commitment we make slowly and silently, and inevitably expectations build because over time we learn how to love this other human who has become so important to us. But in the end, and I hope to remember this in all of my friendships, we are just two people navigating life together. We can put as much love and understanding and support as we can for the other, and at the same time remember our own boundaries. Powerful friendships change you, and this one did from the moment it started
I can see so much looking back, and I know now that people come (and go) to show us what we can’t see on our own. I found a cherished companion and a great connection with a good person who brought out in me some needs I had to face. And I’m grateful for the fear and doubt and parts of myself that were brought out in me through our struggles. One day when we both have happiness I hope we can recognize that we did our genuine best.
But in this moment, in the end, as the sun sets on one of the brightest friendships to enter my life, I can’t help but hope that it might see another day. To walk through life is a gift, but to come across a person who becomes a friend, a teacher, and a mirror, is a treasure. For now I’ll look back fondly with a deep sense of gratitude and embrace the knowledge that it was what it was and what it did was move me. Tomorrow I’ll hope for the light to come again.
What Comes Next
I have just started the 2018 I dreamt of while running along a stream in the middle of Seoul last summer. I’m in China, next to the Great Wall. Tomorrow. I will wake up and walk for hours until I get enough of the path I find. And the next day I will find a new city and the day after, another. And that’s what this year will be about.
I imagine that it will be beautiful and that I will learn. And that I will look back and I will learn more. I will look ahead and I will have no idea what the future holds. There will be hardships and losses but also joy and brightness and good love along the way. I can’t wait.

Airplane Thoughts

When I flew back to the U.S. last week (a casual 26-hour trip) I watched two films that were drastically different and yet exactly the same in their messages. One film was called Human Flow by Ai Weiwei and the other was Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, directed by Martin McDonagh. After I watched the first one, I cried a lot. And then I watched the second one and cried a lot too. And after I finished crying a lot, I thought a lot. 

What if we were raised in a culture of acceptance instead of in a world where “good” and “bad” and “right” and “wrong” are defined differently among people to the point where disagreement becomes disrespectful? 

I asked myself what it means to me to feel home in a place that was not always my home. I came to the U.S. seventeen years ago with my family, as an immigrant, and when I think about what that was like, and then I think about refugee families today and what it must be like for them, I feel so much pain. 

My wish would be for everyone who arrives in this country to find safety and feel home, but I know that not all do. I know that fear drives people to choose actions that are easily mistaken for reactions based on hate or judgement. But I also know that we, as humans, are inherently good, and that we are so capable of loving each other no matter where we come from. I know the latter is a stronger and better know, because that is the know that I lived. 

I arrived here at ten years old, and I felt accepted. I went to school and was approached politely by children wanting to be friends, despite the fact that my skin was darker and my eyes smaller. My teachers saw potential in me and guided and supported me genuinely. Strangers smiled at me and showed me kindness. Neighbors treated me as an equal neighbor. And it didn’t take long to feel home.

In Weiwei’s film I didn’t see much of my own story. I saw the version of mine that is a nightmare for me but a reality for others today. And no one deserves a reality like that. I don’t know the solution to the refugee crisis around the world, but I know what I can do and what I am willing to do. And it matters; small actions matter because in the end it is not about the action, but about the exchange between people.

After watching Three Billboards, I realized something that allowed for a new level of awareness in me: We need to get a head start in understanding and internalizing the idea that we are supposed to be in this together. That really is how simple it is. 

Both Three Billboards and Human Flow are talking about the same issue but framing it in different stories. In Three Billboards, the fighting parties come from the same place and are separated only by how they were raised and the roads between them. In Human Flow, they are separated by oceans and wars and cultures. Both are trying to tell us that we are separating ourselves from each other and it’s killing us. We’re nourishing hatred and bigotry and racism and ignorance and differences and we are choosing enemies in the people we share this Earth with. That’s not fair, and we have to fix it.

There is a quote in Human Flow that is important for the world to hear: “It’s going to be a big challenge to recognize that the world is shrinking, and people from different religions, different cultures, are going to have to learn to live with each other.” It shouldn’t be a challenge to meet our neighbors in the middle. It should be natural to our humanity.

In Three Billboards, Woody Harrelson says,Through love comes calm and through calm comes thought.” Love should be our first language as people. Love should be at the center of our existence, as individuals and as a species.

We are better than what we are doing to each other right now. We have to put it together, and we have to take it seriously. We need to choose love, and we need to choose it more often. 

What It Means To Be A Human

Written December 2014

What it means to be human.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what a blessing it is to be a human on this earth. The odds of being any other creature are pretty high. But you are reading this, meaning you are lucky enough to be a person (and probably an awesome one). I’m not sure anyone really knows what it means to be human, but these are my ideas.

Being human means understanding the beauty rooted deep in all places of this earth. It means being aware that you are just a visitor, and that you should respect the rest of whom and what you share this space with.

Being human means being intelligent enough to adapt to what’s around you. This ability is in you. Use it.

Being human means finding connections with other humans.

Being human means appreciating every type of environment. From soil to sand to dirt to gravel and all the way to hardwood and tile floors. Whether we are under a tree or a roof, we can’t ever forget where we started and how we got to where we are.

Being human means respecting each other and those we share the earth with. In Costa Rica, the love and respect that people have for nature is contagious. They recognize that we share this land, not just with other people, but with trees and sloths and snakes and spiders, and all in between. Being human should mean being humble, and not crowning ourselves entitled.

Being human means having the capacity to try new things, paired with the ability to decide whether we like it or not.

Being human means consuming so much knowledge at a rate where we should always want more.

Being human means taking advantage of our ability to travel the world and do all of the above. As people, we have this power to inspire and move and change and share and love and teach and create. With so much power, it’s easy to waste. Don’t.

Being human means knowing that every beginning has an end. But if there is sincerity in between, I hope I never regret it. At one point, every thing we had and every one we had meant something to each other, and in this life, that’s all we really seem to be looking for.

Connectedness

A few years ago, my ex asked me who I’m closest with: friends from home, friends from school, or friends from abroad.  I never answered him, but I’ve since thought of that question on occasion, and I have come to the conclusion that I’m not more or less close to each of the groups; the levels of friendship and connection are just so different.  These people are part of significant phases of my life, and perhaps each group knows me in a different way than the others.

My friends from home have known me since I was ten years old, and they have, no doubt, seen me grow the most.  These people have watched me change, and vice versa.  There’s something about growing up constantly surrounded by the same friends, seeing slow evolutions in each other, and sharing experiences that shape us both as individuals and as a system.  All of this transforming brought us to a level of friendship that can only be achieved with time.  And all of this time has brought us ups and downs that only continue to bring us closer.  They are my cornerstone, the building blocks of who I am, the very core of where my growth began, and one of the main ingredients to my happiness.  My friends from home are the ones I am glad to always have.  No matter how far down the road, I know I will have them to come home to.

It was hard to imagine who my college friends would be and what role they would play in my life until I found them.  Turns out, they’re some of the best friends to have around.  College friends get to know you in incredible ways–at house parties and bars, hungover in dorms, during all-nighters at the library, and every other second in between.  These are friends who live with you–sometimes literally–and get to see who you are while you’re in the process of finding yourself and potentially, who you’re going to be for the rest of your life.  They are there to watch you overcome the most difficult challenges you will ever face, and if you’re lucky, they’ll be right next to you every step of the way, making the same exact horrible decisions.  I have formed unbreakable bonds with my college friends, and with them I’ve learned how little time can affect friendship.  They are my support networks and secret-outlets, my squad, and the bottom line is that they get to know me better than most people ever do.

Sigh.  Sevilla friends.  These are people with whom I have created an entirely new bubble of friendship.  They are there, living in the stories that I will be telling for the rest of my life.  These friendships formed exceptionally fast, and I think that might be the reason for our extremely high comfort levels with each other.  Suddenly I found myself in a foreign country with just a suitcase and this group of people to hold on to.  And I did.  We all did.  Fortunately I don’t think we will ever let go.  What we’ve been through were some of the best moments of our lives, and that is not something to be taken lightly. We’ve seen the world, pushed through borders and boundaries, and fell in love with the same city together. Through all of this, and in less than half a year, what we did was more than travel. We left parts of ourselves with each other, in all corners of the world, and if that doesn’t bond you for life then I’m not sure what does.

Since this question was posed to me, I entered a new phase in my life which has brought yet another incredible group of people into my life: my Seoul friends. The last three years in South Korea have been life life life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all my experiences here. I’ve grown part of different communities–teachers, foreigners, local yogis and runners–who have welcomed me and helped me to see the life I’ve built in this country. I hold close the group of friends I made within the first few days of arriving, and I think that through meeting them I became solid in who I already was. We all got to know each other exactly as we were and as we still are, and I have nothing but gratitude for the fact that we loved each other through flaws and mistakes.

Most recently I’ve been thinking about the running and yoga families I’ve come to know and love here in Seoul the last two years. When I first walked into Zen Yoga studio, and first went to an open run for Crewghost, I never thought it would become a completely engrained and habitual attendance. Now I go to my yoga studio 5-8 times and to a crew run at least once or twice, both per week. Spending as much time sharing a mutual passion with a group of people for hours at a time brings you together without even trying–certainly regardless of language. These two communities have brought me joy and support, and a family to back me in the goals that no one else can understand.

As I come to realize that I have just five short months left before a new adventure, I’ve been thinking a lot about who I’ve spent my years with. And as I get ready to leave this group of friends to visit the others, all I can feel is gratitude. To have so much love from around the world. To know that I can turn to so many to receive all kinds of needs. To understand that I can be a different version of myself and still be loved for it. To find that I am open and lucky enough to be able to connect with so many souls. And to recognize that with time, I am changing for the better. How do I know all this? Because each time I come back to all of the people I love, no matter how long it’s been or how far I’ve gone, I never doubt that the love and connection and friendship remain.

Finding Balance in Intricacy

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

And so we are told this, again and again. As children, we hear it when we make mistakes we are too young to fix–like spilling milk or breaking a toy. In school, we hear it when we get an unexpected score on the test we thought we were ready for. At work, we hear it on the first day when we are lost and completely unsure of our responsibilities. And in life, we hear it from our friends and our parents and those who love us, in the moments we feel like we just don’t have it together.

Everyone makes mistakes. It is a simple fact. That’s the easy part.

What comes after mistakes are made is where the complications start. Black and white collide and simple facts are only simple from a certain point of view. While people make mistakes, the consequences can’t always be fixed. The milk can’t be cleaned, the toy can’t be fixed. The next test won’t up the average. And it’s not the first day of work. Not everything comes with second chances.

I’ve found that after making a mistake, there are two choices. Learn a lesson, or don’t.

Recently I made a mistake that opened my eyes to the importance of making mistakes: learning forgiveness. It is a complicated concept. Whether you are in the position to give or receive it, forgiveness requires practice. It requires patience. And it requires pain.

Through this mistake I discovered what it feels like to be denied forgiveness, and to lose someone as a result. I also learned that the power of forgiveness is in the hands of the forgiver. Understanding both sides of forgiveness is necessary in understanding that neither side is easy to be on.

Finding a safe balance comes in time, and we each find that balance at our own times and at our own pace. I found balance when I forgave myself. I made a mistake, and I learned from it. I lost someone as a result, but each day brings me closer to accepting that. Life is too unpredictable to deny forgiveness. Too short to regret. And all too wonderful to wallow.

 

How Lucky I Am

I wake up every day and tell myself that I am lucky. Probably the luckiest. And I should have posted this blog when I wrote it a month ago. But I’m lucky, not perfect.

_____

2014 was a weird one.

January was spent doing a lot of reading, a lot of research, a lot of writing, and a lot of asking myself why I decided to write an honors thesis. This first month gave no insight as to how interesting the year would be.

I spent February through April reminding myself that life is short and so is college. It was the time it took me to get over a three year relationship, and also to lose a friend.

I spent the month of May doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Like indulging in ice cream, drinking lots of beer, and kissing a cute boy or two.

June through August were three months of wandering a new city, adjusting to the life of a college grad, and discovering a pure hatred for cubicles.

September was a month of beginnings, where I explored a new job, a new relationship, and a few new hobbies.

In October and November, I spent a lot of time thinking about trust and people and what it means to put the two together. In the end, I found that the process of learning never ends, and that it’s okay to feel things, especially pain.

And here we are now, in December. I’ve just spent the last two weeks traveling through Central America, and I came home to discover that once again, an entire year has come and gone.

It’s always a unique feeling to be in the last few days of the year, stuck between reminiscing the last twelve months and trying to imagine the next. Time moves fast, and we grow exponentially lucky with each passing second. I hope to remember that for the rest of my life. And I hope that I can look back on each year and find my own seasons within the months, instead of what the calendar tells me.

2014—Things I Did And What I Learned From Them:

I said goodbye to my first love. It was eleven months ago and I still think it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I learned how to love the fact that love for someone or something can continue even when it’s over.

I wrote a 200-page honors thesis. It wasn’t easy, but I loved it. And because I loved it, it was worth it.

I took up new hobbies and gained new skills. All it took was time.

I graduated college. We used to think it was cool to not do homework and be lazy in high school, but now I believe that learning is the best decision you will ever make.

I lost a friend over a disagreement and failure to understand each other. Not all friendships are meant to last, but all are meant to learn from.

I interviewed someone who inspires me. Dan Layus and I had a conversation about heartbreak in the most loving way because things are so good. “How could they be so good that it breaks my heart?”

I lived in a new city, and I learned that you can build a home anywhere.

I discovered a new love for running and mountains. There is something about the natural world that can make you feel more at home than four walls ever could.

I worked in an industry that I don’t really want to be in at all. I learned to learn what I don’t like. And that cubicles are the bane of my existence.

I welcomed a new life to the world, my first nephew, and remembered that life is precious.

I went to a TED conference. Ideas and people are more powerful than money.

I watched the sun rise and set as much as I could. This continues to teach me to never, ever take the familiar for granted.

I went bungee jumping. It was this surreal moment, in which I felt an unmistakeable combination of fear, adrenaline, and peace, all at once. During the free fall, I learned that this unnamed feeling is one that I need to chase forever.

I visited 2 new countries, 4 new states, 15 new cities. The world is big, and I will never get enough of it.

All in all, this year was one of discovery, and testing myself emotionally. While I learned plenty about myself, I also learned that there is much, much more to learn.

Not Your Average Post-Grad

One hundred and sixty days ago, I reached a milestone of my life that only about 7% of people achieve: college graduation. Since May, every new acquaintance I make and every old friend I see has asked, “Where do you work?” or “What are you doing now?”

Here’s my problem with that. Why do people think that every college graduate’s success is measured by whether or not they have a full-time job lined up as soon as they toss that graduation cap in the air?

To start, shouldn’t we take some time to celebrate the giant success that is earning a college degree? Shouldn’t we be asking grads what they want to do with their life, not with their degree? Don’t get me wrong. I wholeheartedly believe that finishing college is a major accomplishment to be immensely proud of. However, I also think that there is way more to my early twenties than competing for a job that secures my spot in a cubicle, likely next to a middle-aged someone who has been there since his or her own college graduation.

Again, don’t get me wrong. I will have a full-time job one day, and I will probably be starting in a cubicle. But it’s not going to be a job that I applied for just because society told me that it was supposed to be the next step in my life. It’s going to be a job that I want for myself; a job that makes me happy, that I earned, and that I love.

So, what do I say when people ask me where I work or what I’m doing now? Well. Where do I begin? Since college graduation, I discovered a new love for nature while hiking in the Alaskan mountains. I celebrated my birthday delivering letters to Senators’ offices on Capitol Hill in Washington D.C., went on a road trip to upstate New York with my mom, prepared homemade lobster rolls in Maine, and attended my first Filipino opera. I also began training for a half marathon, assisted an event planner with a medical gala at Gotham Hall in New York City, and started teaching myself Korean.

“I’m just livin’,” I say. I’m doing things I love. I’m learning from others, and I’m teaching myself. I’m traveling. I’m reading books that I could never find the time to while in school. I’m finding ways to make and save money outside of the 9-5 confine. I’m spending time with people I care about. And I’m taking a step back from the pressure that seems to be pushing too many young professionals in directions that they aren’t even sure is right for them. Most importantly, I hope that I’m serving as a reminder that success doesn’t always have to come in the form of a resumè.